


What We Want

by zestinpeace



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zestinpeace/pseuds/zestinpeace
Summary: The Exarch's latest show of kindness to the Warrior of Light results in more than either had bargained for - and forces the latter to reflect on what he wants for himself.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains spoilers for Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers! Obviously there's the spoiler already given away in the character tags, but there is some more than that.
> 
> This is my first time ever publishing fanfic! Despite being immersed in fandoms for most of my internet life, fanfic was always something that wasn't for me. But I do love writing, and I loved Shadowbringers so much that it made something click in my head. I just HAD to write something inspired by it; especially about the relationship between the Exarch and his inspiration. 
> 
> WoL uses he/him in this fic, but otherwise is deliberately described in vague terms, the idea being that you can easily read him as either a self-insert or a separate character entirely.
> 
> I hope you like it! Feedback is very welcome.

The Exarch sunk his hands into the Warrior of Darkness’ pillow. The inn room at the Pendants was empty aside from himself, though the hero’s presence weighed heavily throughout. Even when left empty for many nights, a room has a connection to its usual occupant; he who has lived there, slept there, called it home and returned to it after days good and bad. The Exarch, having left his mark on the Crystal Tower almost as much as it had left its marks upon him, knew this better than anyone. But it was the hero whose pillow he was presently fighting the feline urge to knead, and the marks left by said hero, that currently occupied his mind. 

He had only entered the Warrior’s private chambers to deliver a hamper of sweets — a “welcome home” gift, awaiting his return from his exploits with the Scions at the far edges of Norvardt. But he couldn’t help himself in tidying the rest of the room. A perfectly reasonable expression of gratitude, he assured himself. Finishing his task, he took a moment’s respite, sitting with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed, hands supporting his body against the soft sheets. A comforting abode indeed, he thought. He would not have his hero — no, rather, the people of the First would not have their hero suffer anything less. Yes. That’s exactly what he meant to think. 

Just as he had finished reasoning with himself, the Exarch heard a key in the door. His back stiffened, a chill running down it. His head swiveled to focus solely on the wooden door, though he would rather look anywhere else, as if averting his eyes would make the sound of keys fumbling in metal cease. 

It occurred to him that the only thing which could make the ensuing encounter worse would be if he were still sitting on the bed when his friend entered the room. Just as that occurred to him, the door swung open and the Warrior of Darkness appeared.

“Exarch?”

“Ah, hello friend,” he said, clutching to his composure as if it were the only thing keeping him from tumbling into an abyss. “I apologise for the intrusion. I merely meant to present a small token of my appreciation.”

The Exarch gestured towards the basket, which sat on a table by the door. The two chairs by it were empty. The Warrior’s gaze lingered on them for a time, before returning to the robed Miqo’te perched nervously in the middle of his bed. Was it too late to leave? the Exarch asked himself, but it plainly was. Paradoxically, the best thing for this uncomfortable moment might be to strike up a conversation. Yes, keep pretending this is normal, and eventually it will be. 

By that entirely reasonable process of logic, he made the exceedingly stupid decision to shuffle to one side and invite the Warrior to sit beside him on the bed. “I trust your expedition to the Empty has been enlightening?” he began, still pretending that his own behaviour was anywhere within the realm of ‘acceptable’.

“I expect Urianger has given you a lengthy report already.” The warrior replied as he walked towards the bed. His mood was unreadable. A success? Had he accepted the faux pas? “I won’t take up your time with a repeat explanation, but I am glad as always to have helped.”

He smiled as he said that, and went to sit on the bed. As he descended, his hand landed quite by accident atop the Exarch’s. Both froze. The Warrior had the mental functioning to realise his mistake, moving his hand into his lap. Still, the Exarch was awfully close. How long had he been seated here, the Warrior wondered, awaiting his return? Had he really planned this absurd encounter out? He must have; everything the man did seemed planned out, every variable accounted for. And the Warrior, to his own frustration, was not an especially variable person.

“Be that as it may,” the Exarch said with an effort, “I am sure the tale would be more interesting from your lips.” 

The Warrior studied his face. He certainly didn’t have the look of a well-prepared man, he thought as the Exarch fought the urge to bury his face in the nearest pillow. Finally putting the pieces together, he recognised the Miqo’te’s barely suppressed expression: embarrassment. He looked awfully handsome when he was embarrassed. 

“Tell me about the hamper you had prepared,” the Warrior began. Perhaps restarting the conversation would allow him to help salvage the Exarch’s dignity. “I did love those sandwiches you brought me the other day.”

Regrettably, the Warrior saw that this new topic of discussion did little to reduce his friend’s embarrassment. “My thanks,” he replied. “To tell you the truth, I was worried it may have been too much. So I brought you some sweets this time, things you can leave for a few days if you get full. Candied apples, jellied harcot, a few tarts —”

“You baked all that?”

“No, no, I placed an order with the Facet of Nourishing. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind what?” The Warrior’s face strained as he tried to parse the befuddled Exarch’s meaning. “That you didn’t make it yourself, or that you didn’t bring sandwiches instead?”

For reasons obvious enough but not immediately clear to the Warrior of Darkness, who was not unused to his social intelligence failing him, the Exarch took that badly. The Miqo’te stared at the floor, and replied, “I do apologise. I can always order something more to your liking.” 

His downtrodden expression hit the Warrior square in the heart. The situation called for drastic measures. Glancing downwards, he realised that the Exarch’s hand had not moved, except to grip the bedsheet as though he were in pain. Moving slowly, so as to make clear that the gesture was quite deliberate, the Warrior placed his own hand back on top of it. G’raha looked up at him, turning his head just in time to catch the Warrior’s kiss on his lips. They both leaned back, the Exarch startled and dazed, the Warrior with a broken grin. “Consider it thanks for your hospitality.”

Almost immediately the Exarch was upon him, both hands on his shoulders as he drew forth a deeper kiss. The Warrior took it as permission to wrap a hand around the back of the Exarch’s head, pulling himself closer, fingers intertwining with his greying red hair and the braid at the centre. 

The Exarch leaned back again. “I hope you realise this was in no way my intention,” he said softly, in the sheepish tone of an apology.

“So you say,” the Warrior replied, “but I have a suspicion that you have no complaints about the outcome.”

The Exarch finally smiled. There was no use pretending he was not giddy at this moment. He felt that a long captive beast had been freed from his heart. He resolved that would not delay in enjoying the hero’s company. He pushed himself against him, and the Warrior pulled him in. A most welcome reward, the latter thought to himself as he ran a hand down his guest’s — or was it host’s? — partly crystalline neck.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exarch and Warrior's intimate encounter wraps up. Though he has had a productive evening, the Warrior has a hard time catching sleep.

“Next we meet like this, I beseech you: let it be on my own terms.” 

“I...of course,” the Exarch said, reaching for his footwear a few ilms from the bed. He had robed himself, but was taking his time in preparing to leave. He turned to the Warrior as he slid them on. “I have asked so much of you, ever since you arrived in the First, and your will has never bent; it would be callous at best to betray your comfort.”

“Thank you,” the Warrior replied, checking that he had put his smallclothes on the right way around. Seeing the sincerely apologetic Exarch, he felt his resolve weaken a fraction; it hurt to put into place a man whose every action towards him spoke of kindness, but he knew he had to persevere. Even if he wasn’t quite sure why. “To that end, I would prefer if our next intimate encounter does  _ not _ begin with you awaiting me in my private chambers.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the Exarch spluttered quickly, eager to wave that moment into the distant past. “But then, where shall we go? I suppose you could invite me when you see fit…”

“Isn’t it obvious? Your own abode should surely suffice.” He flashed a devious smile. “I can think of no place as opulent or as private…”

The exarch recoiled. “You can’t be serious. Oh Gods. You are. You do realise that an unannounced excursion into an Allagan relic would carry all sorts of risks, yes?” 

“I’ve seen your crystal tower, Exarch,” said the Warrior with an irrepressible grin, “and I am positive we can find a solution. You need not fear being disturbed.”

“What if we  _ are _ disturbed?” The Exarch’s already flushed face grew redder still. 

“Then we do what heroes do best; improvise.”

* * *

The Exarch left through the door. His pride was a little tarnished, but otherwise he carried a more gleeful air than when the Warrior had chewed him out moments ago, let alone compared to when he had been found sitting on his bed. It certainly helped to have something to look forward to. Or perhaps the pleasure of their evening together had finally sunk in for him.

Now alone, the Warrior stood up and walked to the table, giving the basket of sweets a long overdue examination. Indeed, the desserts were to the high standard he expected from the Crystarium’s suppliers. A remarkable sugary smell reached his nose, but he was saddened that this meal lacked the charm of the Exarch’s asymmetrically cut sandwiches. He returned to the bed, collapsed onto the mattress and let out a sigh. He couldn’t help but notice that the sheets still smelled like G’raha. It still did once he had shut the window tight, put out the lamp and slipped under the covers. He still felt the Miqo’te by his side, though he only heard him say the same words, over and over.

“Your will has never bent.”

Something about the compliment was disquieting. He thought of Hydaelyn. He had assumed it wise not to think too deeply on the subject, but it was impossible to ignore now. His will, unbending? What kind of praise was that for a man whose every action has been in service to a God he doesn’t fully understand? To a man who fears he may be little more than a primal’s thrall? To one already desperately seeking in himself some fragment of individuality, some hint that he is more than what others define him as?

The Warrior of Light reached across the bed, holding empty space. He had spent many nights since he arrived in this strange world doing just that, embracing empty air. He held an image of the Exarch in his mind. Now that the image had been fulfilled once, he should have felt happy. Why can’t he just be happy? 

As the anxious chatter in his head tired itself out and he felt sleep come, one last impulse entered his mind, a promise to his waking self: to spend the next day doing something very indulgent, and at least a little stupid.


End file.
